


New York Nights

by Lexebug



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen, Making Out, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 19:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15847458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexebug/pseuds/Lexebug
Summary: There’s a hand in his hair, fingers tracing through loose curls under his hat. Jack’s still getting closer, eyes half-lidded and shining in the last few lights still lit in the city below. “You doin’ what I think you are?”





	New York Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I like newsies now!!!! Wack.

David was tapping his foot absently against the floor, hands hanging loosely over the railing of the roof. The city that never slept was going to bed, lights blinking out on street corners and in windows. He had to be home soon. But then the ladder was rattling, and he watched from his peripheral vision as Jack climbed up, settled next to him, an unlit cigar hanging from his lips. “Pretty, huh?” He says, the cig getting closer to falling out of his mouth before he pulls it back in with a tiny grin. Davey averts his eyes. Tries to stop whatever thoughts might have started. “You got any good sales today?” 

They have a tiny conversation, something meaningless, about papers or Pulitzer. David isn’t paying attention. He’s watching the way Jack moves, shifts closer to him until their shoulders are bumping. They lapse into silence, Jack’s fingers almost touching David’s as they tap some songless beat on the railing. The cigar dangling precariously. “You want a light?” Davey asks, and he shrugs. A no, then. Maybe he’s pulling a Racetrack, keeping an unlit cigar in his mouth for reasons unknown to man. Jack turns, eyes finally meeting David’s, for the first time that night. He does his best to avoid letting his gaze drop to Jack’s mouth, tries to focus on the bridge of his nose and distract himself, but Jack beats him to it. His eyes slip down, his brows just the tiniest bit furrowed, and Jesus, he licks his lips. Davey is having no luck not looking at them, but Jack doesn’t seem to mind.

David reaches a hand out, turns to face him and rests his fingers on his shoulder. Jack responds in turn, hand moving to cradle the back of his neck until they’re face-to-face, practically chest to chest. “What’re ya doin’, Davey?” Jack asks, a teasing lilt in his voice. David’s heart is about to pound out of his chest; he doesn’t know how long he’s spent thinking about this, dreaming of this, knowing it was wrong and thinking Jack would know it too. But he doesn’t. And his hand is plucking the cigar from his mouth and setting it aside, Davey doesn’t know where. There’s a hand in his hair, fingers tracing through loose curls under his hat. Jack’s still getting closer, eyes half-lidded and shining in the last few lights still lit in the city below. “You doin’ what I think you are?” A whisper, barely even a breath, and Davey steels himself for rejection, and leans down and presses their lips together.

It’s quiet. There’s someone walking down below, footsteps shuffling and kicking up gravel. Jack’s so warm, and his hand is still in David’s hair, and he’s not pulling away, but he’s not moving, either. Davey realizes very quickly that this is not like kissing anybody he’s kissed before. Jack Kelly is wildly uncharted territory, and he’s pulling back, but his hands are still running oh-so-gently through Davey’s hair. His eyes are closed, peaceful, and he breathes out a tiny sigh. “You know how long I’ve been waitin’ on you to do that, Jacobs?” He asks, and before he’s got the chance to smile in that cheeky way he always does, David’s got a hand on his jaw and is tilting his head up to kiss him.

It’s dead silent, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like needy, insistent kisses, Jack’s tongue tracing his lips, like the gorgeous little groan he made when his teeth grabbed Jack’s bottom lip. His hat falls off when Jack rakes through his hair, blunt nails scratching and strong fingers tugging eagerly. He can’t bring himself to care because he’s got a hand playing with Jack’s hair, pulling him closer, pressing his tongue against his mouth and reveling in the noises he makes. 

They pull apart after God knows how long, panting softly. Jack’s cap is gone too, lost sometime during the kiss. “Fuck, Davey,” he says, voice hoarse, lips swollen and bitten and beautiful. “Wanted that for so long.” David pulls him forward again, hand wrapped around his waist, and starts placing little open-mouthed kisses along his jawline, down to his neck. “Guess that means the same for you, huh?” Jack says, breath stuttering when Dave latches his teeth onto his earlobe. 

Jack half-stumbles backwards, almost falling into the tiny chair the boys keep out here for late-night smokes or early morning conversations. Davey pulls it out, sits down, and without any prompting Jack swings one leg over either side of his thighs, tilts his head to one side, and Dave leans forward, hands resting on Jack’s hips and shifting him closer, covering his neck in kisses. He notices the obscene sound Jack makes when he goes for an experimental bite, so he does it again, and Jack outright moans, hands fisted in Davey’s hair to shift himself forward. Searching for friction to solve the increasingly difficult issue going on in his drawers, Dave assumed. So he sneaks a hand down, pops open the button and fixes the fly, and Jack whines in his ear, wordless and pleading. 

Davey palms over the bulge in Jack’s boxers, sucking a dark collar of hickeys into his throat. Pulls him ever closer to get a better angle, to give him more, more of anything he wants. He’s panting requests into David’s ear; _get me off, let me suck your cock, touch me more, fuck me, please, want your hands on me, in me, everywhere, c’mon, Davey, PLEASE_. Davey slips his hand into Jack’s boxers and grins into the beautiful curve of his neck at the drawn-out moan. He slides his hand over velvety-soft skin, warm and sensitive and making Jack jump forward and beg for more. He runs his fingertips over the head, slicks the rest of it with pre, and Jack is practically wordless now, just a mess of groans and whines and pleas for more. 

He comes when Davey bites, hard, on his neck, keening and shuddering, hips rocking of their own accord. Leans forward, exhausted, but manages a breathy moan when Davey pulls his hand out and licks his fingers clean, grinning. “I’ve...been wanting to do that for a while, Jack,” he says, and laughs quietly when Jack leans forward and kisses his forehead. 

“You want me to...help you out?” Jack asks, gesturing to the pretty obvious problem in Davey’s pants, but he shakes his head.

“I’ve gotta get home; Les will start to worry.” Jack nods, eyes drooping; he’s gotta be bone tired. And they both have to be up early to get the best spots first. “See you tomorrow?” Jack stands, shuffles his feet awkwardly. Before Davey gets up and leans down to kiss him on the lips, softly, just for a second; Jack chases after him for a second, eager, but Davey laughs and shakes his head. “No round two tonight. Next time, yeah?” He brightens, and nods, grabbing one of Dave’s hands and squeezing it. “G’night, Cowboy,” Davey says as he climbs down the ladder, back to street level. Picks up Jack’s hat that landed on the sidewalk. He’ll bring it tomorrow morning.

The next day, Jack shows up with a ring of bruises around his neck. Les thinks a rival tried to hang him. Race and Albert fight over which girl he might have gotten with the previous night. Crutchie gives Davey an all-too-knowing look, a sly grin. Davey blushes, tries not to make it too obvious when he hands Jack his cap, and later hopes nobody sees them sneak onto a side street, hands grasping collars and tossing aside hats. Hopes nobody sees the unlit cigar they leave behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I like how this turned out


End file.
